


Shipping and Fan-ficking

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff and Humor, One-Shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 18:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13486827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Sequels from previous fics, and other one-shots.





	1. A New Year

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel for One Week in December, prompted by DanyeIN.

“We could buy a baby,” Jaime suggested, spearing a meatball with his fork.

Brienne twisted round with a raised eyebrow, “Buy a baby? How do you suppose we do that?”

“I have a guy,” Jaime shrugged.

“You have a _baby_ guy?” Brienne spluttered.

Jaime nodded, patting her arm reassuringly, “Don't worry, it's not technically illegal,”

“ _Technically_ illegal?” Brienne repeated.

“Best you don't ask any more details, you want that last garlic bread?”

Jaime took advantage of Brienne's temporary speechlessness to load his plate up.

“As effective and technically not illegal as buying a baby is,” Brienne began, “Let's keep that as Plan B,”

“We could always tell our parents the truth?” Jaime suggested.

“We can't do that!” Brienne cried out in horror, “It will break my father's heart,”

“So?”

“ _So,_ I actually love my dad,” Brienne pointed out.

“I still can't get my head around that,” Jaime sighed, “Who loves their fathers?”

“Most people, surprisingly. Loving one's father tends to be the norm,” Brienne explained, “If you think living in constant fear and dread as you do is a normal father-son relationship, then we definitely shouldn't buy a baby,” she grimaced as she thought of her father, whose ecstasy only grew with every day, and sighed. “He's going to be heartbroken, and it's all my fault,”

Jaime reached out and pulled Brienne into his arms. “Come on now Brienne, I thought we agreed we were going to blame this all on Tyrion,”

#

“Maybe I should start wearing bigger cushions,” Brienne suggested, inspecting herself in the mirror, “How big does a six month baby bump look?”she asked Jaime who sat sprawled across the sofa.

Jaime eyed up Brienne's upholstery padded stomach critically, “A bit bigger than that,” he mused, before grimacing, “I forgot to mention, my Aunt Genna wants to take you shopping for maternity clothes,”  
  


Brienne shuddered, “I hope you told her I was busy,”

“....Something along those lines,” Jaime said, fixing his eyes on the blank TV screen

“Well what did you tell her exactly?”

“That you would be ready for three this afternoon,” Jaime admitted, hastily throwing his arms up to shield his face from the cushion missile Brienne had launched at him.

“Hey, that's our baby you're chucking about!” Jaime cried out indignantly.

Brienne just glared as she grabbed the cushion and shoved it down her trousers.

“Fine, I'll go shopping with your aunt, but my dad wants to start converting our guest room into a nursery, and you're going to help. He's already picked out the paint, and you can help him choose from the curtain samples he has,”

“Decorating the nursery, isn't that going a bit far?” Jaime said.

Brienne smoothed down the cushion in her pants and added a rolled up jumper. “Now what makes you say that?” she spat. She slumped down on the sofa, “You know what, I don't think we can keep blaming everything on Tyrion's elopement,”

#

“Now I understand you don't want to buy into gender roles,” Selwyn began, “But it would help a lot if we knew if it was a boy or girl,”

“Brienne and I want it to be a surprise,” Jaime explained, staring at a pink curtain sample patterned with prancing unicorns.

“Well,” Selwyn began, “Even so, I think this could do for both,”

Jaime watched as his father in-law proudly produced a little lion onesie, a lump rapidly forming in his throat.

“It's so small,” he said hoarsely, reaching out to take the onesie, “Look at the feet,”

Selwyn chuckled, patting Jaime on the shoulder. “I know how you feel son. A Grand-baby at last,” he shook his head, “And you and Brienne are going to be wonderful parents, I just know it,”

“Selwyn-” Jaime began, only to be cut off.

“Hey, what did I tell you. It's dad to you!” Selwyn cried to Jaime, bringing him into a one armed hug when he saw the tears in Jaime's eyes, “None of that. I know it's overwhelming, but I will be with you, every step of the way,”

Jaime gulped. “I know,”

#

The joy in Selwyn's eyes haunted Jaime all afternoon. He could deal with breaking his own father's heart, Jaime wasn't even sure Tywin had one, but breaking the affectionate and jovial Selwyn Tarth's heart was another matter. He was the man who had raised Brienne single handedly, seeing her through the loss of her mother and childhood bullies. Jaime owed so much to this man, he couldn't deceive him any longer.

“How did shopping go?” Jaime began as Brienne entered the door, noticing the stricken look on her white face.

“Ok,” Brienne said softly, “I got some odd looks from the dressing room assistant, but it was fine,”

Jaime nodded, before taking a calming breath. “Brienne,” he said, “We need to tell your dad the truth,”

“I agree,” Brienne said.

“Really? Why the change of mind?” Jaime asked, leading her towards the sofa.

“Because I was worried about breaking my father's heart when he finds out the truth, and now I don't have to,” Brienne whispered.

Jaime's eyes widened as he placed a hand over Brienne's clenched fists. “Brienne?” he asked tentatively.

“After I left your aunt, I went to the chemists to pick up some tampons,” Brienne began, her voice soft and numb, “Then I realised how long it's been since I needed any. So, I didn't buy any tampons and instead I brought..” she fumbled with her pockets, producing a used pregnancy test, “This,”

Jaime reached out and took the test from her hand. A faint sense of elation spread through Jaime's body and tingled in his fingers. Ever since the lie had started they had began trying for a baby, but for the last few months they had steadily been losing hope.

“We're going to have a baby?” he whispered.

“We're going to have a baby,” Brienne confirmed.

With a sudden rush of joy, Jaime whooped and pulled Brienne into his arms, lifting her from the ground and swinging her through the air.

“Careful, careful,” Brienne laughed as Jaime staggered beneath her weight. Her jumper and cushion slipped from her shirt and fell to Jaime's feet.

Still laughing, Jaime stooped to pick up the cushion, cradling it in his arms. “Don't worry Jaime JR,” he cooed, “Mummy and I will still love you,”

Brienne rolled her eyes and snatched the cushion from his arms, placing it back on the sofa.

“This is actually happening,” she collapsed to the sofa, Jaime settling down beside her, “We're having a baby. We don't have to lie anymore,”

Jaime rested his hand upon Brienne's belly. “It actually is,” he nuzzled into her neck, “And we're telling Tyrion that we are never going to lie on his behalf again,”

~9 Children Later~

Jaime sighed and slammed down his phone. “Brienne!” he yelled up the stairs, “Tyrion's been arrested by the Meereenese Government!”

Brienne grimaced, “Fine!” she shouted back down, “You call my dad to pick up the kids, I'll get out my thong and the handcuffs,”

 


	2. Welcome Home Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For DanyeIN, who prompted a sequel to a Dornish Holiday.

Brienne slowly slid down the stone wall of one of Casterly Rock's many hallways, methodically unbuckled her pinching high heeled shoe, took aim and launched it towards the other end of the hall. She then repeated the process with her other shoe. Jaime winced to see her designer heels treated in such a way. He considered reminding her that they cost five hundred gold dragons, but considering the withering glare she was sending him he decided he should just be grateful that she wasn't aiming it as his head.

He sunk down beside her, and wrapped his arm round her bare shoulder.

“It wasn't _that_ bad,” he said half-heartedly.

Brienne just scoffed, tucking her knees under her chin and curling into a protective ball.

“Your dad wanted to how regular my moon's blood is and asked me to keep a diary tracking it,” she murmured numbly.

“Ok, I can see how that might be a _bit_ embarrassing,” Jaime conceded.

“And then you told him how regular I was,” Brienne pointed out, lips curling as she stiffened in his arms, “In front of you brother, your sister, your aunts, uncles and cousins,”

“Well, I have to keep track of these things,” Jaime said defensively, “How else would I know to make sure there was chocolate fudge cake in the cupboard and to stock up on pads? I actually think some of my family were impressed, Aunt Genna certainly was. Uncle Emmon won't even share a shelf with her tampons, let alone buy them and know which ones to get,”

The tension in Brienne's shoulders eased slightly as a small smile twitched at her lips, “It is nice to get in knowing you will have a hot water bottle waiting for me,”

“See!” Jaime grinned, pulling Brienne into a hug, “I'm a catch. You could do a lot worse husband wise. I will buy you pads and feed you cake. I know when to back off and give you space and when you need company. I buy you clothes so you don't have to bother with shopping because I know you hate it. I can even make you smile and laugh, no easy feat I tell you,” he tickled her under the ribs, causing Brienne to squirm and try to wriggle away, only for Jaime to tighten his grip, “What more can you ask for?”

Brienne raised an eyebrow, “Apart from actually being in love?” she suggested.

Jaime's jaw clenched and the smile faded from his face. “Is that such an impossibility?” he asked quietly.

Brienne shook her head and removed herself from Jaime's embrace.

“Jamie,” she sighed, “I know you're fond of me, and that we're close, but can you honestly tell me that you could ever see me as anything more than a friend?”

Jaime's pale face grew still and opaque, a wall falling over his mirthful green eyes.

“Is that your only objection? That you don't think I could love you as a wife?”

“Do I need another objection?” Brienne shot back.

“What about your feelings,” Jaime reached out and took Brienne's hands in his, “Is there any chance you could see me as something more than a friend?”

Brienne jerked her hands from his and turned away, hiding the rapidly spreading blush on her cheeks.

Jaime's shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he said softly, “I will speak to my father again. I'm sure there is something I can do to-”

“No!” Brienne cut, her cheeks a flaming red. Jaime stared at her, waiting for her to continued.

“You don't want me to speak to my father?” Jaime asked.

“Do-do you want to?” Brienne asked back.

“Do you want me to want to?”

They stared at each other, waiting for the other's response. Eventually Jaime rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air.

“Right, so unless one of us answers we're going to be sitting here staring at each other for a while, and my arse is starting to hurt like a son of a Cersei,” Jaime snapped, grabbing Brienne's hands and clutching them tightly, “I love you Brienne. I want to give this marriage a go, but if you don't then I will do whatever I can to get ourselves out of it,” his grip loosened slightly, “I won't keep you tied to me if you don't want to be. But if you were willing to give us a chance, then I would move heaven and Earth to be the best husband you could ever ask for,”  
  


A small smile spread across Brienne's lips, and she reached out to run a hand along Jaime's cheek. “You don't have to go as far as moving heaven and Earth,” she assured him, “Just please don't ever speak about my period cycle over dinner in front of your family again. Ever,”

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and leave any prompts for sequel fics or fic in general in the comments!


	3. Battle Won

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Laura1013 who prompted a sequel to Battles to Come, and to ThePurestofSeaWarriors who wanted to see grandfather Selwyn.

When Lord Selwyn sent Brienne across the Straits of Tarth to serve King Renly, he had hoped she would return bringing honour, glory and; he could not deny, a husband. By this point, Selwyn knew he could no longer afford to be picky. He would settle for a knight or minor lordling, provided he was a good man who would rule Tarth wisely and well.

As more time passed and winter approached, Lord Selwyn cared less about Brienne coming home with glory and honour, let alone a husband, and only longed for her to come home with her life. So for her to return with all four should have made him ecstatic.

But what a husband she had returned with. The Kingslayer, the sister-fucker from the disgraced house of Lannister. He had been stripped of his titles, his rights to Casterly Rock, and it was only through his admittedly great courage in the War of the Long Night that he had been left with his life. Once the son of the most powerful house in Westeros, he was now little more than a pauper. Jaime Lannister had nothing to bring to the family of Tarth but his looks, (which admittedly were not unwelcome.)

Whereas empty headed maids with songs in their hearts may have talked of a great romance forged in the rage of war, more knowledgable men spoke with confidence of what really happened. The Kingslayer, a grasping Lannister to the end, had taken advantage of the ugliest women in Westeros and seduced her into believing her cared for her. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and planted a babe in her, so that when they returned to Tarth her poor father would have no choice but to accept him.

Why else would the handsome, oath-breaking Lannister wed the ugly, honourable Tarth? Even Lord Selwyn Tarth had to believe this was so.

True, he believed it slightly less when he first saw the pair together. There was such tenderness between them. Such love in the Kingslayer's eyes as they pledged their love in the small Sept of Evenfall. But then Lannisters were great deceivers, Selwyn mused. Love can be feigned.

As could the concern radiating from Lannister as Brienne's pregnancy advanced. The only person on the island whose fear for Brienne's welfare was her own father. And there had even been times where Selwyn felt a sense of camaraderie with his good-son, as they prepared for the imminent birth. Seeing Lannister's constant agitation, Selwyn found himself inclined to offer comfort.

But then of course the Kingslayer would be concerned. If Brienne were to perish before Lord Selwyn himself, the Kingslayer would never inherit Tarth.

Still, he had to think well of the man when he stayed beside Brienne all through the labour, instead of praying for his future lordship in the sept or drinking away his troubles in the tavern. Lannister had held Brienne's hand and murmured words of encouragement, never once flinching form the blood and other various liquids pooling round his wife. Upon witnessing this, Selwyn had to concede there might be a genuine tenderness between the two. After all, they had fought and suffered by each other's side. Bonds can be formed in such circumstances. But the bond of husband and wife, he was less sure.

Until he was.

At last the cries of his daughter stopped and the cries of his granddaughter began.

Selwyn waited as Brienne was cleaned and the sheets refreshed, before entering her chamber. The windows were open to let in fresh air, mother and child wrapped in furs to stay warm. Jaime sat beside his wife, rocking his softly mewling daughter. He looked up at his good-father, tears in his eyes.

“Isn't she magnificent?” he murmured.

Selwyn was not sure if Jaime spoke of Brienne or the babe, but nodded in agreement.

“May I?” Selwyn asked hoarsely, stretching out his arms.

Jaime tenderly placed his daughter into her grandfather's hands. Selwyn smiled slightly to see Jaime cup her head and rest it delicately in the crook of Selwyn's arms, whilst fussing with the furs. His grandchild yawned, her rosebud mouth opening and closing, and Selwyn had to swallow down a lump.

From her bed, Brienne smiled through glazed eyes, half asleep. Jaime and Selwyn sat beside her and pressed kisses against her forehead.

“Are you disappointed?” Selwyn asked Jaime as Brienne drifted off into sleep, “That you don't have a son?”

Jaime shook his head, “If my daughter is anything like her mother, I could not be more pleased. It will be an honour to raise such a child,”

“And a terror,” Selwyn pointed out, remembering the long tortured nights as he agonised over where his little girl may be.

Jaime chuckled and reached out to stroke the baby's cheek. “I don't doubt it,” he laughed.

The smile faded from his face as Jaime met Selwyn's eyes. He regarded his father gravely for a moment, before resting a hand on Brienne's shoulder.

“I will take care of them,” Ser Jaime promised, “You know I will,”

Selwyn nodded. “I know you will,” he said. Tucking the babe into one arm he reached out and grasped Ser Jaime's remaining hand in his own, “I know,”

 


	4. A Royal Pardon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Laura1013, a sequel to Passing Judgement. Passing Judgement was one of my earlier fics and it was really fun going back to it, so thanks for the prompt!

Brienne recoiled from the exquisitely ornate mass of fabric being brandished in front of her eyes. It was red satin, intricately embroidered with a dizzying pattern of golden lions and sunbursts. She reached out and tentatively stroked the fabric. Ever since she had been summoned to the queen's chambers, she had been ambushed with jewels and bolts of fabric. She had bluffed her way through conversations regarding necklines and sleeves, nodding and occasionally repeating the queen's and dressmaker's statements as though she knew what they meant.

Considering the sparkling glint in Queen Margaery's eyes, Brienne suspected that the lady knew exactly the trial she was putting Brienne through. Which was probably why the meeting extended from “a few short minutes” to the best part of an afternoon.

“Come now, Lady Brienne,” Queen Margaery said coaxingly, “It is your wedding gown. Surely you must have an opinion?”

Brienne bared her teeth into a smile and informed the queen that she trusted her judgement in all things, hoping that the queen would take the hint and dismiss her. She could not see what good pouring over these bolts of cloth would do. No matter how well set a pair of sleeves may be, nothing was going to disguise that was missing half her cheek.

“You have been most kind in your interest, your Grace,” Brienne said flatly.

Queen Margaery let out a tinkling laugh and patted Brienne's arm. “I suppose after an army camp, such opulence must be somewhat overwhelming. But it is expected for the Lord of the Westerlands and the daughter of the new Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. How _is_ your father settling into his new role?” she added lightly.

“He works at it diligently,” Brienne informed her, “And is most honoured by the appointment,”

“It is well deserved, both he and his heir fought valiantly against the usurper,” Queen Margaery assured her, “I can think of no family more deserving than the Tarths,”

“How about this, my lady?” the seamstress suggested, unrolling a shimmering bolt of silver silk,

“Oh yes,” Queen Margaery trilled, “Paired with the sapphires your betrothed has gifted you, it would look very well. You are so fortunate in the gifts your husband to-be has bestowed upon you,”

Brienne nodded politely, “Ser Jaime has been most kind,” she agreed.

“I suppose it is the relief of having you safely returned from Tarth,” the queen mused, “With your life so greatly at risk, no wonder he is showering you with gifts. Sapphires, armour, horses...and more,” Queen Margaery dropped her voice discretely and lead Brienne away to a sheltered nook.

“I must thank you Lady Brienne,” she whispered, “Not only for your service to the crown, but for your service to Lady Sansa”

Brienne's eyes widened. “I know not what you mean, my lady,” she stammered, looking for all her height like a cornered mouse.

“I understand that it was out of consideration for you that Ser Jaime has pushed for Lady Sansa's pardon,” Queen Margaery explained, “I am most grateful. I was always so fond of dear Sansa, such a sweet girl. I never could believe she would ever harm anyone, let along my beloved Joffrey,”

“Your Grace I had very little to do with the decision,” Brienne informed her, “The Small Council made the decision that they felt ensured justice was done, nothing more. I had no hand in it,”

“You are too modest Lady Brienne,” Queen Margaery insisted.

“I can assured you I am not,” Brienne said, “It was the Small Council's decision and theirs alone. After all, if you and I had any say in the decision, I know you yourself would have pushed for the pardon. Especially when considering how deeply fond of her you are,”

Margaery's rosebud lips quirked up into her first genuine smile of the meeting. “Why Lady Brienne,” she smirked, “You are becoming a courtier,”

#

Jaime accosted Brienne in the courtyard.

“My lady,” he bowed his head and gallantly kissed her calloused hand, “Do you have a moment?”

“Do you have need of me, my lord?” Brienne asked.

“Just a quick word,” Jaime assured her.

They tucked themselves away behind a hay pile and lowered their voices.

“I heard our sweet Queen had you imprisoned in her chambers all afternoon,” Jamie began, “Did she say anything suspect? Did she try to pry information from you?”

“She insinuated that Lady Sansa was pardoned as a favour to me,” Brienne replied furtively, “She told me she was grateful and tried to make me take credit,”

Jaime regarded her grimly, “Probably wanted to worm her way into Sansa's good side if she is found and made Lady of Winterfell. I don't think she has any current plans for having you accused as a treacherous Stark sympathiser,”

“But....?” Brienne questioned.

“Well, it doesn't hurt to have a confession in hand just in case,” Jaime explained.

“Then you can be assured that I didn't confess to anything,” Brienne consoled him, briefly relaying their conversation, “And then she told me that I was becoming 'a courtier',” she finished, “Which I'm not sure how I feel about,”

“Why not?” Jaime asked, “It means you gave her nothing to play on. It sounds like a compliment,”

“But it's not exactly the type of compliment I would like to receive. To be a courtier, lying and scheming, who wants to be complimented on that?” Brienne said earnestly.

“Right, I tell you I liked how you severed that sell-sword's head whilst on Tarth and you go round beaming like a little girl al day, but this compliment is an affront to your sensitive nature,” Jaime drawled.

On seeing the concern still firmly plastered on her face, Jaime wrapped an arm round her shoulder.

“Brienne, you are a warrior and court is a battlefield. Becoming a courtier is just another way to survive, another way to fight for what you believe in. There are no nice wars, only worthy battles. And as long as you are fighting for what is right, warrior or courtier, you will always be Brienne,” he pressed a tender kiss to her lips and smiled, “And warrior or courtier, I will always love you for being Brienne, for being you,”

 


	5. Pitiful Display

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Justme, who suggested a sequel to Just and Act.

“Father, it's far too soon for us to even be _considering_ marriage!” Jaime protested, running his hand through his hair.

“You and Miss Tarth have been courting for several years know,” Tywin pointed out coldly, “And have been close acquaintances for years before that. How is it too soon?”

“I mean we're too young,” Jaime pointed out, “We haven't even graduated yet, and we both want to focus on our careers,”

“You could have taken on a role at Casterly Inc years ago if you had not insisted on this acting foolishness,” Tywin sneered, “And as for Miss Tarth, as your significant other her primary duty is to support you in _your_ career, and on raising your family,”

“Right,” Jaime scoffed, “Well you can tell her that,”

“Oh, I will,” Tywin vowed.

Jaime grimaced. Tywin Lannister and Brienne Tarth, head to head in a battle of wills. He could sell tickets.

“We're not getting married,” Jaime repeated.

Tywin raised a single eyebrow. “We shall see,”

#

“It's good to see you Jaime,” Selwyn beamed, slapping his would be son in-law on the back, “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to get Brienne a graduation gift,” Jaime explained, “Something special. I was hoping you'd have some advice,”

“Well,” Selwyn said awkwardly, inexplicably turning red bashful, “Jewellery is always an option,”

“Jewellery?” Jaime repeated sceptically, “I'm not sure that's really up Brienne's street,”

“Oh..well, it doesn't have to be anything too fancy or big. Just something small and tasteful. A bracelet, a ring maybe...”

“A ring...?” Jaime rolled his eyes, “You've been talking to Father, haven't you?”

“Of course not!” Selwyn protested, turning red as the beetroot he grew in his garden, “I just thought a ring might make a nice present, that's all,”

“I can see where Brienne has gotten her remarkable skills of deception from,” Jaime said dryly.

“So...rings?” Selwyn suggested once more.

“I'm leaving,” Jaime snapped, turning his back and swiftly exiting.

“Well, I tried,” Selwyn sighed.

#

“You know,” Aunt Genna began as she poured Jaime a cup of tea, “I took dear Brienne shopping today,”

“I know,” Jaime confirmed, remembering the stricken, traumatised look on Brienne's face that was guaranteed to be present every time she was hauled off on a Genna Lannister-Frey shopping trip, what with being dragged from boutique to boutique by his critical, opinionated aunt.

“She lingered an awfully long time outside the wedding dress shop,” Aunt Genna said significantly.

Jaime frowned. “Is that true?”

Aunt Genna sipped her tea and nodded.

“Had to tow her away,”she mused, “Asked me what type of style I thought would suit her best. Of course I said nothing too puffy,” Genna shook her head in distaste, “Or anything that pulls attention to her shoulders. We had a long, discussion about it,”

Jaime's eyes widened.“You did?”

He sat back with a scowl on his face. Genna was talking about wedding dresses, Selwyn was suggesting rings. Who else had Father gotten his claws into?

#

Tyrion took a swig of his beer and shoved a finger into Jaime face, “You should ask Brienne to marry you,”

“Traitor!” Jaime cried.

“Well, why not?” Tyrion shrugged, “You love her, she loves you. It's going to happen one day. Why wait?”

“And give into Father?” Jaime snarked.

Tyrion grimaced. “You make a valid point,” he conceded, “But as noble as your desire to piss Father off is, are you going to risk your life with Brienne on it?”

“I'm not going to risk my life with Brienne over it,” Jaime snapped, “When we are ready, we're ready,”

“You're sure about that?” Tyrion asked sceptically, “What if, suppose what if, it isn't just Father whose got marriage in his head? Maybe it wasn't Father that put thoughts of wedding dresses and engagement rings into certain busy-bodies' heads?”

“If Brienne was going to talk about marriage to anyone, she would talk about it to me. Not Selwyn, not Aunt Genna and _certainly_ not Father _,”_

“And bearded gingers are out of the question?” Tyrion asked.

Jaime's stomach dropped. “What-what do you mean?” he stuttered.

“I mean I saw the hopefully future Mrs Lannister-Tarth having a pretty heavy discussion with one Tormund Giantsbane. You know, the man who has been on the edge of proposing to Brienne ever since he first got a glance of her spectacular biceps,” Tyrion took a speculative sip of his beer, “If Brienne was to ever get broody over marriage, and her devoted boyfriend isn't making any moves, said ginger might be the ideal candidate,”

The blood fled from Jaime's face as he mulled over Tyrion's words. Clearly something had to be done!

#

The Lannister-Tarth Graduation was a full on Tywin Lannister event. He had rented out the entire Red Keep hotel, and the guests were treated to a Hot Pie Star five course meal, whilst being serenaded by a seven piece orchestra. A montage of pictures of Brienne and Jaime throughout the years was projected on a screen so large that Brienne would have mortified, had she been present.

Instead, both guests of honour were mysteriously absent. Selwyn cast a panicked glance towards Tywin.

“Do you have any idea where they are?” he demanded, tugging insistently at Tywin's two thousand dragons designer suit.

“Jaime did not see fit to tell me where they are or when they are getting here,” Tywin said, coldly brushing off Selwyn's large hand and having his assistant smooth out the creases of his blazer, “But he has assured me that we shall all pay witness to a very important announcement,”

Selwyn beamed. “I knew we'd get to him in the end,” he declared, giving Tywin a heart slap on the back.

Tywin scowled. Now he would have to burn his blazer.

Suddenly the screen turned to static and was replaced by the shaky image of Jaime in a cheap hotel room smiling down at them. The orchestra screeched to a halt and all chatter died.

“Hello everyone!” the grinning face of Jaime Lannister called, “This is Jaime here, along with his gorgeous camera person Brienne Tarth, streaming to you live from none of your God damn business!”

Tywin turned pale with rage. “Jaime!” he growled under his voice.

“Now,” Jaime continued, “Apparently there has been a lot of speculation about Brienne and I, and after hearing several very convincing arguments I find myself obliged to ask one very serious question,” he cleared his throat and knelt before the camera, “Brienne Tarth, do you want to marry me?”

Excited chatter broke amongst the audience, and several began to prematurely clap. Only the savvy Tywin remained watching the video feed with dread.

“No Jaime!” Brienne's off-screen voice called, “I do not!”

Jaime sat once more upon the bed, still beaming, “And why don't you want to marry me?”

“Because we are both too young, neither of us feels ready and we want to focus on our careers,” Brienne chimed, “That's why,”  
  
  


“Exactly,” Jaime nodded in satisfaction, “Selwyn, Aunt Genna, Tyrion, I expected better from you. Especially Tyrion and Aunt Genna. Selwyn can be excused for his pathetic lies. But Tyrion, Genna,” Jaime tutted, “You're Lannisters, your lies should have been so much more convincing. Brienne _dawdling_ on a shopping trip with Aunt Genna. As if! And willingly spending time with Tormund Giantsbane,” Jaime scoffed in disgust, “She'd rather wrestle with a bear. Which is why, Brienne and I are going to celebrate out graduation, alone, and do so in sin,”

“Jaime!” Brienne protested, only for Jaime to reach towards her and drag her to the bed, silencing all protests with his mouth. The camera was knocked to ground, fortunately blocking the screen from the audience.

Unfortunately for the audience, specifically Selwyn Tarth, it did not block out the sound.

 


	6. Lunch Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an Isolocaramella prompt that came out weeks ago. Finally got it finished!

Brienne Tarth was ugly. There was no denying that. She had long, awkward limbs and legs the size of tree trunks. Her pale skin was starkly freckled as though she had been speckled with mud. Her nose had been broken twice and her hair was a birds nest. Her indulgent father hadn't been sufficiently stern enough to force Brienne to wear her retainer, causing her teeth to grow bucked and crooked. What's more, she was sullen and shy, speaking only in monosyllabic words. The only standing long term relationship she had was with her rescue cat, Pod.

Which was why, on returning home from her shift at the library, Brienne was somewhat surprised to find a man reclining on her sofa, lazily flicking through the TV channels. She halted in her doorway, blue eyes widening.

“Jaime?” she whispered.

Jaime turned round to smile her in pleasure. “At last!” he cried, “Do you know how long I've been waiting for you?”

Although he put on a jaunty veneer, Brienne could see the strain on his face and the tension in his voice. It had been there on the morning after their night together, after they said what Brienne believed to be their last goodbyes.

The smile on Jaime's face faded as Brienne remained silent.

“Brienne?” he asked uneasily.

Brienne shook her head in confusion. She could have sworn that today was the day. She thought to check her google calendar before seeing Jaime's tuxedo. Designer and costing an arm and a leg, with a delighted Pod getting his white fur all over as he nuzzled into Jamie, and a Winter rose in the buttonhole. Today was definitely the day.

“How did you get in?” Brienne asked weakly.

Jaime jingled his key sheepishly, Pod batting at it with his paws. “You never took it back,” he explained.

No, she hadn't. The morning when Jaime had announced his engagement, Brienne had been too at sea to do something as sensible as asking back the key from the man she had sent running from her flat, sobbing and cursing at him all the while. She should have, she supposed.

Admittedly, Brienne was unaware of the proper etiquette when it came to taking keys away from the man she had been slowly falling in love with, only for him to tell her he was engaged to the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the country the morning after their only night together. She was very out of practise where that particular social convention was concerned, having only ever given a spare key to Jaime.

Her heart had been thumping when she had first pressed it into his hands. Brienne had tried to act casual about it, claiming it was only because she was tired of Jaime banging out theme tunes on her door whenever it took longer than a single knock for Brienne to let him in.

That had been six months after meeting. Six months after he started coming into her cafe during his lunch break. Six months after he started teasing with her and flirting with her. Six months after they met, and two months before Jaime told her he was getting married in a week. A political match arranged by his father, something he had agreed to in haste after having his heart broken by his twin sister. (It was all rather complicated.)

“What are you doing here?” she demanded hoarsely, still lingering in the doorway. She gulped slightly. “Isn't the ceremony at five?”

Jaime shrugged. “That was the plan,” he admitted, “Although I suspect that might be up for change,” He gently placed Pod on the sofa beside him and stood up. “We were all getting ready in my suite,” he explained, “When I saw the clock and realised 'whoops, it's nearly lunchtime. Time to see Brienne'. Unfortunately, I had no idea you had changed your shift. So I've been waiting for you here all afternoon,”

Brienne shook her head numbly. “Jaime,” she began, “I'm not up for anymore games. I don't deserve this, and neither does your bride-”

“Sansa Stark will get over it,” he cut in, “We barely know each other. Ned Stark can growl and call me dishonourable, Catelyn Stark can spit poison and pretend not to be delighted, and Sansa can mourn being jilted by the man old enough to be her father. Although considering we passed each other on the way to the door, it shouldn't take all that long,”

Heart in throat, Brienne tentatively stepped into the living room. “You ran away from your wedding, and you came here,” she said softly.

“I did,” Jaime confirmed. He twitched, as though aching to go towards her. Instead he stayed rooted to the spot, letting her come to him.

“Why?” Brienne asked, watery eyes staring at him pleadingly. She sniffed, cursing that her nose had chosen this time to get snotted up.

“Because there are two thousand people at my wedding,” Jaime explained, “Including royalty and politicians and millionaire moguls. But not one of them was the person I really wanted at my wedding. Not one of them was you,”  
  
  


“For fucks sake Jamie!” Brienne snapped, “Where was this two weeks ago? Why couldn't you have told me sooner?”

“Because when it comes to my heart I'm a little boy pulling at pigtails, Brienne, that's why,” Jaime paused to pass Brienne a hanky and give her the chance to blow her nose, before continuing. “Because when it comes to feelings I never knew how to act, until today. Deciding to come here and see you was the first choice I have been certain about in a long time. Brienne,” he said, pleading, begging, “Let my jilting Sansa be my last un-kept promise, my last broken vow, and let me be loyal to you always. Please?”

Wiping away the last of the snot, Brienne smiled and stepped into the room. “Always is a pretty big word,” she said, allowing Jaime to wrap her in his arms, “Let's just start with lunch first,”

 


	7. Beauties and the Beasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For always a Fangirl, a sequel to Lion Cubs. Prepare for fluff.

It was early evening, and the sun was gently sinking. As a last hurrah it cast its warm rays over the walls of the rock, painting them pink and orange. The sea was calm, the sparkling waves steadily rising and crushing against the rocks below. It had been a beautiful day, blue skies and a bright smiling sun. All day Lady Joanna Lannister had sat and listened to the cheerful chatter and bursts of laughter coming through the crack of her opened window.

She had been cloistered within her chambers all day, answering her correspondence. Hours upon hours answering to the petty complaints of her bannermen had set her mood at odds with the warmth of the day. A black cloud had descended upon her.

With a sigh, Lady Joanna lay down her quill and stretched her worn fingers. Anxious to benefit somewhat from the fading sun, she rose and took herself for an evening stroll. Passing the courtyard she overhead the gay laughter of children.

With a smile, Joanna watched as Gerion growled on all fours, pouncing at a tourney sword wielding Brienne and Jaime. Tyrion watched from atop a barrel, chortling and clapping his little hands. Gerion roared and lunged for the two elder children, causing them to shriek and leap backwards, clutching each other. They stumbled and fell into a heap on the floor. Giggling and still clinging on the the other, they watched as Gerion advanced, hissing menacingly.

“Quick Ser Jaime!” Joanna called out, “Defend your lady from the monster!”

Jaime stopped laughing to look at his foolish mother. “But Mama, it's Brienne who's rescuing me,”

Brienne nodded. “Of course Jaime is the lady, he's got longer hair and everyone says he's prettier,”

Gerion leaped forward once more, rearing backwards.

“Away monster,” Brienne said firmly, rushing forward to press against Gerion, “Away from my lady,”

Gerion lurched towards Brienne, growling in her face. She stumbled back, half shrieking and half giggling, and fell to the ground with a thud. Joanna grabbed at her heavy skirts and strode forwards, gallantly placing herself between her children and the monster.

“Enough foul monster!” she cried, putting one hand before her and using the other to gesture to the children, who came to hide in her velvet skirts, “You shall not torment these sweet children anymore. Begone with you, and never return, lest you face my wrath!”

Whimpering, Gerion backed away, shoulders quaking in silent laughter.

“Mama! Mama!” Tyrion clapped, “Well done Mama!”

So excited was her youngest that he toppled forwards. He would have plummeted to the ground had Joanna not reached out and caught him. Holding him against her breast, Joanna felt her baby yawn. She smiled into his hair and rocked him gently. Tyrion squirmed, wanting to get down and play, but looking into his eyes Joanna saw how desperately he blinked to stay awake. And as bright and chaotic as Jaime and Brienne were now, she knew they would be out of it the minute their heads touched their pillows.

“Come along now, dear one,” she cooed, “I think that is enough excitement for today. Time for bed,” she turned to Brienne and Jaime, beckoning for them to follow, “You two as well,” she called, “You must keep up your strength for all the monsters you shall be fighting tomorrow. It is time all of you were in bed,” turning her back on them as they followed in her wake, Joanna hid a devious smirk, “But first, I think, baths,”

Right on cue, Brienne and Jaime let out twin groans of disgust.

“Well,” Jaime muttered darkly, dragging and kicking his feet against the stone path, “Now we know who the _real_ monster is,”

 


	8. Wedding Announcement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wedding sequel to Passing Judgement.

My sweetest Elaena,

As promised I am writing to tell you all about the wedding. I know how must be starving for news, buried up there at Crakehall, and have been missing the drama at court. You _must_ make your new husband bring you for a visit as soon as possible. It is obscene that you should be missing so much excitement, and you know how greatly I long for your dear presence.

It was unconscionable of your parents to push your wedding forward as they did. And to a dullard such as your husband! I don't care if they wished to remove you from 'the depravities and corruption of court', it's just not fair. They even made you miss the queen's execution!

(Did I remember to tell you how her mouth kept moving afterwards and her blindfold fell off so you could see her eyes roll around?)

It is fortunate that I am able to write to you, for I am most fatigued after the festivities of the day. I was up with the rise of the sun at Queen Margaery's insistence, to help Lady Brienne prepare. As such, you must understand how weary I am. Nevertheless, I shall put myself out a bit more and write this letter, so that no detail goes unremembered. Although it is only my affection for you that spurs me to do so.

Well, I was up at the crack of dawn, along with most of the Queen's other ladies. A tad excessive, perhaps, but then Lady Brienne requires all the help she could get. We laid out her small clothes and gown as she bathed. She was much embarrassed to have so many of us flittering about as she washed. I heard Lady Elinor laugh and say that she best get over her maidenly modesty as quickly as possible, whilst Lady Merryweather dismissed her shyness as an act, for she is known by all as the 'Kingslayer's Whore'.

I can't help but feel sorry for Lady Brienne. If I were to look the way she did, I would be ashamed to be on display as much as she. Indeed, I doubt I would even be able to leave my chambers for shame, if I shared her figure and visage. I certainly wouldn't go about without a veil to cover that hideous scar.

And as for those horrible rumours about herself and Ser Jaime, why one only needs to look at her to know they quite false. There was not even a mention of making her father Lord Paramount of the Stormlands when those names started.

When the time came to dress Lady Brienne, I near wept to see such a gown wasted on her. It was so beautiful, the most divine dress you had ever seen. It was silver silk with blue velvet under-sleeves and kirtle, with a long train that looked like water as it trailed behind her. Around her neck and on her ear were sapphires, the finest sapphires I had the fortune to look upon. And all of it thrown away on Lady Brienne's great lumbering limbs, broad shoulders and freckled face. It was a tragedy!

But then I suppose other ladies can make do with wearing simpler gowns. Light, girlish things that allow their natural charms shine through. Poor Lady Brienne possesses none of the graces a young lady should. No elegance, no accomplishments (unless one considers waving a sword around), no wit and certainly no beauty. In truth she has nought but her father's newfound wealth and station to recommend her. And her wedding gown did a good job of displaying those to the best advantage. Especially when once considers the quantity of the costly fabric required to fit her.

Once she was dressed, we hurried to dress ourselves and left her waiting in her finery. Upon our return Lady Brienne's blushes from being so fussed over had quite faded away and she was left really very pale, causing her scar and those horrible freckles to stand out all the more starkly. She looked close to vomiting. Although I suppose most maids feel that way on their wedding day. Especially with such a crowd coming to watch.

The service was very long and tedious, and I was stuck watching at the back near some of the most irritating squires, who kept making silly comments and laughing. I barely saw anything that was happening up front, and only really caught a glimpse of the bride as she was escorted down the aisle.

(I now owe Lady Megga a gold dragon, having bet Lady Brienne would have fallen or at least stumbled before reaching the altar).

Ser Jaime was everything his bride wasn't. Handsome, graceful and smiling. One would think that it would be Lady Brienne grinning ear from ear, having made a catch such as his lordship. But instead she seemed to prefer staring at her shoes (which were very pretty), although I think I saw a little smile when she first saw him waiting for her.

She remained as dour throughout the feast and the entertainments that followed, but again I think I saw a her crack a slight laugh or two at Ser Jaime's urging. He was whispering into her ear all evening. And they held hands whenever possible, only letting go when Ser Jaime needed his hand to eat.

I wonder if there truly is a fondness between them. Lady Brienne certainly must be in love with Ser Jaime, how can she not be? As for Ser Jaime....well, we all know about his peculiar tastes in women. I suppose after his own sister, the ugliest woman on Westeros is not really so shocking. Normal, pretty ladies are probably too boring for him.

More the pity for the rest of us.

Ser Jaime was certainly unwilling to share his bride with anyone else, and expressly forbid her being put through a bedding. Us ladies were allowed to carry him off to bed and strip him though. I got to hold his arm! It was so muscular. And I ran my hand through his hair. (How jealous are you Elaena? I wager very.)

Lady Brienne followed behind at a more dignified pace, escorted by Ser Addam Marbrand and Ser Jaime's cousin, Ser Daven. They kept her well protected from any grasping hands, and for that I am pleased. I could not have born it had Lady Brienne's gown been ruined. Thankfully, between the three of them (for Lady Brienne carried her sword on her hip, imagine!), the gown was kept safe from harm.

I watched Lady Brienne be delivered to her new husband, and then rejoined the festivities, before retiring to write this letter. You must write to me soon, Elaena, and tell me of you exciting life as the new bride of a lower cousin of Lord Crakehall. I don't doubt your future letters shall be riveting.

Your most loving and tender friend, Talla.

Post Script;

It is now the morning after and I am most grieved to say I must take back something I said the night before. Lady Brienne's dress is quite ruined. It was found shredded to pieces on her chamber floors. It seems to have been ripped off her.

All of us ladies are in mourning, though I do not know how Lady Brienne feels and I doubt I shall for much time. She is unlikely to be walking around or leaving her bed any time soon.

 


	9. Method Acting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's pov from Just An Act.

“I see that Brienne has been spared the teapots, Stanny!” Robert crowed, already red in the face from large quantities of 'Ribena'. “I suppose Mrs Tyrell likes Tarth more than she does you,”

Stannis sneered from underneath his be-ribboned bonnet and curly wig. “When I wore that gown it was as a pantomime dame. It is a theatrical tradition for the dame to wear avant-garde and ridiculous costumes, with nonsensical accessories. It would be inappropriate for either Miss Tarth or myself to be wearing items such as teapots and completely historically inaccurate. However,” he sniffed, tugging at his skirt, “This waistline is about a decade out, and this pattern is far too contemporary,”

“You better not tell that to Mrs Tyrell,” Davos warned, “Or else you might end up wearing teapots after all,”

If there was one thing Mrs Tyrell was willing to risk historical accuracy and her own artistic integrity for, it was pissing off Stannis.

“Brienne looks pretty though,” Jaime blurted out, only listening to the conversation with half an ear, “Prettier than Sansa,”

The rest of the male cast looked at Jaime septically, wondering if he had hit his head on something hard recently. Jaime glared at their shared looks of incredulity.

“What?” he demanded, “The blue goes with her eyes!”

Stannis found himself nodding in agreement, years of wearing ladies dress having made him something of an expert, “And the pink of Sansa's ballgown clashed with her hair,”

Jaime tilted his chin proudly. “Exactly,” he said, “Do you know how hard it is to pretending to be struck by the beauty of a ginger in pink?”

“You'll have to blame Margaery Tyrell for that,” Davos said, “Mrs Tyrell appointed her Sansa's personal dresser,”

“Now how did that come about?” Jaime muttered wryly, “I guess if she's helping Sansa in and out of her dress, she's not going to be bothered about the colour,”

“Who would?” Bronn leered.

Rhaegar placed his hand over his phone, still trying in vain to win back one of his former girlfriends “I don't think any woman looks beautiful to me. After losing the love of my life, all woman look like drags,”

“Which one is the love of your life again?” Jaime snarked, “Elia or Lyanna?”

“Lyanna,” Rhaegar rolled his eyes, “Elia's mouth is too wide,”

“And Lyanna's tits are way bigger,” Robert added, “Like watermelons. Elia's are more like fried eggs,”

“ _I can hear you, you know,”_ Elia's voice snapped from over the phone.

Wide eyed with panic, Rhaegar began apologising frantically.

Jaime watched Rhaegar's empty promises to Elia and with growing anger, he reached out and snatched the phone away.

“Elia,” he instructed her firmly, “You're doing great, stay away from this arsehole and hold out for someone better,”

Jaime's words were met with a chorus of agreement, as well as a bit more from Bronn and Robert, who seemed willing to overlook Elia's fried egg tits.

Rhaegar snatched the phone back, only for Elia to have hung up.

“Thanks for stabbing me in the back Lannister, now if Lyanna doesn't take me back I'm without a back up!”

“Good,” Jaime snapped, feeling particularly disgusted and aggravated by Rhaegar's two-timing, “Tormund Giantsbane and that bear he was found with at the zoo made a better couple than you and Elia. Both she and Lyanna deserve so much more,”

Rhaegar curled his lips and stormed off.

“What was that about?” Davos asked Jaime softly.

“What do you mean? Rhaegar is repulsive,” Jaime replied.

“And no one is disputing that,” Davos continued, “But you seemed rather... _irate,”_

“I just think,” Jamie said defensively, “That if you are lucky enough to be with a woman you love, you should treat her with respect and devotion,”

“And do you think about how you'd be in a relationship quite a lot these days,” Davos pressed gently.

“Shut it Seaworth,” Bronn growled, “We're staying out of it, remember? Stick your nose in and you get disqualified,”

“Disqualified from what?” Jamie asked.

“Jaime?” Jaime spun round to see Brienne, awkwardly fidgeting in her blue ballgown. Already a large woman, but in a big hoop skirt and starched petticoats she was near gargantuan.

Jaime grinned and circled Brienne. “Well look at you in your party dress. All the teapots gone then?”

“Yes,” Brienne snapped, “And if you are going to make jokes you might as well get them out of the way now,” she crossed her arms and tilted her chin, trying to look dignified despite the blush spreading from her cheeks and across her breasts and ears. “And that goes for the rest of you,”

“No jokes,” Bronn smirked, “You look very pretty,”

“Jaime was just saying how nice your dress looked with your eyes,” Davos added, only to receive kicks to the shins and jabs to the stomachs.

Brienne ignored them and addressed Jaime. “Mrs Tyrell says we need to practise our dance,”

Jaime nodded and gallantly offered Brienne his arm. He lead her to an empty classroom and helped her shift aside tables and chairs, leaving an empty space in the middle.

“Will this be enough room?” Brienne asked.

“I should think so, it's not a showy dance,” Jaime explained, taking Brienne into his arms, “We'll mostly be sticking to one place on the floor. What matters is,” Jaime murmured into Brienne's ear, placing a hand on her waist and tugging her closer, “Is that we're intimate,”

Softly swaying from side to side, Jaime guided Brienne through the simple steps.

“Don't look at your feet,” he instructed, “Look into my eyes. Remember, we're a young couple. We are penniless, living from day to day with not prospect for the future. But we don't care, because we have each other,” he twirled, chuckling as she stumbled back into his arms, “We're foolish children and our love is everything. And not for one minute can we imagine,” he drew to a halt, clutching Brienne as she wobbled at the abrupt end, “That we will be broken apart,”

Jaime rested his forehead against Brienne's, her lips hovering next to his own. His eyes flickered to look at Brienne's too large lips, before meeting her eyes once more. With a quirk of the mouth, he raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want to rehearse the kiss as well?” he suggested.

Brienne flamed bright red and she shoved Jaime away from her.

“What...no!” she stuttered, shaking her head and running back down the hallway. Jaime watched Brienne's hoop skirts swishing ludicrously as she hurried off, smiling all the while.

“That's alright,” he whispered to himself, “I've waited all these years, I can wait until tonight,”

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to thank everyone for all the support and promtps I've been receiving. It's been lovely and I'm so grateful. I'm no longer taking prompts but I still have quite a few chapters left to come up. I'm just over half-way through.


	10. Golden Egg Smash!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt, Brienne and Jaime are paired up to look after an egg. It doesn't go great.

Jaime frowned and shifted in his seat. Brienne Tarth; the great lumbering cow, was blocking his view of the board. He had trouble enough making out the words on the board, without the new girl's ugly head getting in the way. Reaching forward, he jabbed her between the shoulder blades with his pen.

She jolted and her scowling, blotchy face shot round to glare at him.

“What?” she hissed.

“Can't see,” he grumbled back, “Make sure you keep your head down from now on, _Giantess,”_

Brienne's red face turned a gross shade of red, and threateningly furrowed eyebrows could not disguise the hurt and vulnerability in her surprisingly pretty blue eyes. Something twinged in Jaime's stomach and he shifted uneasily.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “But I can't see the board,”

Brienne nodded stiffly and slunk down in her seat. Suppressing his unease, Jaime craned his neck to read with whom he had been paired with for the class project. A grown of dismay bubbled out of his mouth when he saw his name grouped with 'Sansa Stark'.

They had gone on one date, having been set up with friends. Everyone expected them to be perfect for each other. The best looking guy and the best looking girl in the year, if not school. But the date had been a disaster. In the restaurant, Jaime forced himself to look interested as Sansa chattered in inanely and tried to engage himself in the conversation. Then Sansa started stealing the chips off Jaime's plate, practically leaving her own salad uneaten. At that Jaime's attempts of appearing as though he cared what Sansa was saying was thrown out of the window in exchange fore trying not to growl and stab Sansa's hand with a fork.

On leaving, Sansa insisted on taking the long way back to her home and walk through the park. This was despite the fact it was late October and the leaves were already as dead as the chemistry between the two. Two steps in and Sansa began shaking and rubbing her bare arms pointedly. Jaime tried to ignore Sansa's hints, sullenly thinking to himself that Sansa must have known what the weather was like when she was dressing. But then she started squirming up against him for warmth and he hastily shoved his jacket at her, before briskly picking up the pace to 'warm her up'.

Jaime wasn't sure what his dream woman would be like, but ever since that date he knew that it was vital she should possess the ability to remember to bring her own damn jacket!

On seeing their names together, Sansa twisted round to give him a sickly grin. She twirled her long red hair round her finger and did that thing where she arched her shoulders and thrust out her chest. Clearly she still thought she had a chance with him. Probably because Jaime said he would get in touch with her.

He already had. To ask for his jacket back.

Thinking quickly, Jaime coughed and thrust his hand into the air.

“Miss Mordane!” he called, “Can I not have Sansa as a partner?”

Sansa's pretty smile faded into a hurt and puzzled frown, and she sunk into her chair. Jaime stifled a groan. Great. Now he had upset two of his classmates. And people wondered why he was single.

“It's just,” Jaime gulped, eyes flickering around desperately before finally resting on the back of Brienne Tarth's head, “I promised I would be Brienne's partner for...stuff,”

Brienne spun round to look at Jaime in puzzlement. He glared at her to keep silent before turning back to Miss Mordane with a charming smile.

“I've been helping her fit in, you know; get used to the school. And I said I would do projects with her, that type of thing,” Jaime explained.

Miss Mordane smiled approvingly and nodded. “Of course Jaime, that is most chivalrous of you,” she gushed, “Sansa dear, you can join Margaery and Podrick,”

Sansa looked somewhat mollified and exchanged friendly grins with her new group, although her back was pointedly turned from Jaime. Jaime could not help but be relieved that Sansa seemed to have got the message, but in a way that meant she would look a bit of a bitch if she put up a fuss.

Brienne however kept frowning at him, and did not seem swayed by Jaime's winning smile.

“Right then,” Miss Mordane announced, “This week's project is to test your sense of responsibility. How you handle taking care of something, and how well you can work in a partnership. As young adults it is vital you begin to start learning how to cope with taking care of something dependant on you,”

Jaime scoffed softly. True, cooking and cleaning wise he was hopeless, depending on the staff to do that. But he was a Lannister. It was not like he was ever going to be expected to iron his own underwear. But looking after something dependant upon him? He practically raised Tyrion, taking care of him and offering love and support. And before Father finally sent Cersei to her 'special school' it had felt that Cersei's emotional well being had fallen entirely upon Jaime's shoulders.

He eyed the box of eggs with distaste. After his neglected baby brother and his 'emotionally disturbed' twin, an egg was nothing. Even if he had to stick up with Briene Tarth for a week.

#

Jaime had to smile at Brienne's overawed look as he lead her from the lift and to his suite.

“I had to be buzzed in,” she murmured numbly.

He shot her a sarcastic grin. “Gotta be careful that you're not a kidnapper, or an assassin after Father,”

“And the lift in the lobby?”

“Can't tire out these precious Lannister legs,” Jaime rolled his eyes, “Unless it's in our state of the art pool or our cutting edge gym. Welcome,” he said, thrusting the door to his bedroom open, “To Casa la Jaime!”

“Wow,” Brienne muttered, wide eyed. She took in the priceless art on the walls, the leather sofas, the several game consoles and the retro arcade games cluttering the room. “Alright. You clearly have far too much money. Now wonder you're such a twat,”

Jaime laughed and rubbed Brienne's shoulder. “Let's go into my study room,” he suggested.

The study room looked more like a board room come library. With books and computers lining the walls and a projection screen overlooking a long, mahogany table. Blinking, Brienne shook her head and carefully placed the egg on the table, before dumping her bag and shrugging out of her jacket.

“Right then,” Brienne began, nodding towards the sheet in Jaime's hands, “Read out what we need to do with the egg,”

Jaime scowled at the sheet. He hated reading. Anxious not to show himself up, he grew even more tongue tied and stuttered his way through, trying to keep the letters in one place. Finally finishing, he looked up to Brienne with a defiant glare.

She said nothing and simply looked at the egg.

“So we have to take the egg and treat it to a family day out,” Brienne rolled her eyes, “I can't believe we have to take a bloody egg to McDonald's and read it stories at night. It's an egg!”

Jaime gasped in shock and placed both his hands over the side of the egg. “Don't speak about our baby like that,” he admonished her, “Don't worry Socrates,” he cooed, “Mummy didn't mean it,”

“Socrates?”

“Like the philosopher. Because you know, what came first, the chicken or the egg?”

Brienne's lips twitched in amusement, and Jaime could see her eyes laughing. He clapped his hands in a businesslike manner.

“Right then,” he said, “If Baby Socrates needs a trip out, I suggest the park,”

“The park?” Brienne repeated, “Alright, let me get my jacket on,”

Jaime sighed. “A girl after my own heart,”

#

“I'm going to take little Socrates on the round about,” Jaime announced, tenderly gathering their baby egg into his gloved hands.

“Make sure you're careful with it,” Brienne instructed, “That's our grade you have there,”

Jaime tutted, “First you call our child an 'it', and then talk about nothing but grades. You're going to give him a complex!”

Brienne shook her head but that glimmer of amusement flickered across her face once more. Hoping to make her laugh properly, Jaime set off with Socrates, making baby noises to it and looking like a right pillock amongst the five and six year olds.

He looked up to see if Brienne was watching, only to see her surrounded by a group of boys, all laughing and shouting amongst each other. As they spoke, Brienne grew paler and paler, until only her pride kept her rooted to the spot and looking straight ahead.

Jaime approached cautiously, overhearing one of the boys; a ginger one with an extremely punchable face, yell out “Make the most of mothering your egg! It's not like you'll have a child of your own. Any guy's cock is bound to shrivel up and fall off the minute it gets within a foot of you,” the ginger then shoved his face right up into Brienne's, spitting, “That's assuming you can even have kids. I'm still not convinced you don't have a cock between those fat legs of yours!”

The next thing he knew, Jaime had shattered Baby Socrates against the ginger's ruddy locks. Golden yolk dribbled down his neck and the boy spun round, face as red as his hair.

“What do you think you're playing at?” he growled.

“Just a game of catch with my son,” Jaime answered smoothly, “It went a bit wrong. Jaime Lannister,” he thrust out his hand, “Nice to meet you,”

At the name 'Lannister', the blood flooded from the boy's face and he turned white as the innards of Socrates cracked shell.

“Now,” Jaime bared his teeth in the parody of a smile,” What were you saying to my friend here?”

Mumbling, the ginger said something that almost sounded like an apology, before shooting off with the rest of their friends.

“You know those boys?” Jaime asked, “Can you tell me their names?”

“I could,” Brienne nodded.

Jaime sat beside her and watched the fleeing boys with narrowed eyes. Reaching out, he took one of Brienne's clammy hands in his non-eggy one.

“How'd you meet those lovely chaps?”

Brienne sighed and deflated. “We were at school together. On the rugby team. I was the only girl. They were so nice at first. All friendly and supportive. Then I found out,” Brienne grimaced and closed eyes, speaking as quickly as possible to get it all out, “Then I found out that they had a bet on who could fuck me first. I reported them, but Headmaster Tarly said it was my fault, I shouldn't have expected anything else and he couldn't expel the whole rugby team. My Dad wanted to press charges for sexual harassment and there was a big to-do. In the end Headmaster Tarly politely suggested that it might be best if I left the school,”

“They treat you like shit and you get kicked out?” Jaime cried in disgust. Tarly, he thought, he knew that name somewhere. Then he remembered that Tarly was the headmaster of one of the many schools his father was a benefactor to. He nodded in satisfaction.

“Tarly will be fired and those boys expelled,” he announced, “And I doubt they'd be getting into any decent universities at this rate too,” he noticed Brienne's raised eyebrow, “Lannister,” he explained, pointing to his chest.

“Ah,” Brienne said in understanding. She paused, mulling over his offer. Jaime wondered if Brienne would turn him down, but instead her face grew hard and she nodded.

“Good,” she said, “No other girls should have to go through what I did. It was awful, they sent hate mail and everything. I had to change my email address, get a new phone and Dad wanted to call the police. They should be punished,”

Jaime squeezed Brienne's shoulder, noticing she was trembling beneath his hand.

“You're cold,” he murmured softly, unzipping his own jacket and draping it round her shoulders. Brienne jolted in surprise, but smiled in thanks.

“Come on,” Jaime stood up, “Maybe getting some food in you will help. How about some chips? My treat,”

“Um, OK,” Brienne smiled tentatively, taking Jamie's offered hand. She frowned as she noticed the egg yolk dripping from his fingers. “Great,” she muttered, “Now we're going to fail,”

Jaime shrugged carelessly, “It was worth it,” he assured her, “Baby Socrates laid down his life for a _very_ good cause,”

 


	11. Getting it out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based in the same universe as the Golden Egg Slap.

Brienne Tarth never broke her vows, and now that her time came she had to see that vow through. Now was the time for vengeance.

Jaime may have been her best friend; ever since that incident with the egg, but even he had to answer for some crimes. And Brienne had been waiting for a long, long time. Since the day they had first moved in.

Jaime had insisted on celebrating in traditional Lannister style; getting absolutely pissed. Of course, actually being a Lannister meant that Jaime's alcohol endurance was stronger than Brienne's (if not his liver). Within two drinks Brienne was giggling and clinging to Jaime like a limpet. Three drinks had her singing show tunes and by the time she had reached her fifth she was performing hilarious (if not occasionally a little racist) impersonations.

Jaime had been filming and live streaming her to Tyrion since the first drink.

Instead of getting her to bed and pouring water down her throat, Jaime thought it best to record Brienne making an utter fool of herself and broadcast it to his brother and latest arm candy. Alright, then he put her to bed and made her drink water, before waking her up with a greasy sausage bap from the baker's the next day which helped take the edge off her hangover.

Even so, payback must be taken and only then would Brienne's honour would be satisfied!

The opportunity arose when Jaime had his wisdom teeth out. At first Brienne questioned whether she should take advantage of her best friend like this, drugged as he was. But spending a morning listening to Jaime pout and whine as they sat in the waiting room strengthened her resolve. That the CEO of Lannister Industries could be so childish would be a shock to those who had seen him in action, but keep him waiting for a dentist appointment and he turned into a sulky five year old.

On finally arriving home, Brienne dumped Jaime's giggly arse on the sofa and grabbed her laptop. Messaging Tyrion to make sure he was ready to watch, she pointed her webcam at Jaime and let him roll.

“Brien _ne...”_ Jaime slurred, stretching his arms out and squeezing his fingers, “I need a hug!”

Stifling a laugh of triumph, Brienne shook her head and kept on filming. Neither she nor Tyrion were ever going to let him live this down.

Jaime sniffled and stuck his lower lip out. “You never hug _me!”_ he whined, “I always have to hug you. And you always squirm away from me when I give huggles in public,”

Brienne's phone buzzed with a text from Tyrion.

_I'm going to send copies to everyone in the office! Or play it at the Christmas Party._

“And I really want to hug you,” Jaime rambled on, “Because you're the best person ever and when we hug everything is OK and you smell like soap which is clean and you always squeeze me back even though you're blushing and I love you're blush just like I've been in love with you for so long and I know you're too good for me and it hurts....”

It was at that point Jaime collapsed against the cushions, drawl dribbling down his chin. Ignoring her phone as it buzzed with another text from Tyrion, Brienne shut down her laptop. She gently propped Jaime up to make sure he didn't choke, before sitting silently on the edge of the sofa.

#

Jaime watched Brienne with concern. Ever since he got his wisdom teeth out she had been acting strangely. All stiff and awkward, even more so than usual.

Jaime knew he could be a little irritating, but this sudden distance between the two suggested something really bad happened. Whenever he tried to bring it up, Brienne just shrugged it off. In the end, he phoned Tyrion and told him of his woes.

In return, he received the video Brienne had made.

Now he had to deal with the fact that his best friend since school had been aware of his feelings for her, feelings he had been hiding for the best part of seven years. Well, hiding from Brienne. According to Tyrion it was obvious to everyone else.

“I'm just heading out,” Brienne announced, quickly ducking out of the door before Jaime had time to reply.

“Bye then,” Jaime sighed. He had to find a way of talking to her, to find out how she felt about him. It would break his heart if Brienne felt nothing for him in return, but it was the not knowing that was killing him.

But every time he tried to have a talk, Brienne made and excuse and fled. He needed a way to keep Brienne from running out on him again.

Eyes alighting on the kitchen, a light bulb switched on. Brienne had always complained about Jaime not pulling his weight when it came to cooking. Rooting through the cupboards and fridge, he found a bag of tortilla chips and cheese.

Admittedly, the last time Jaime had tried cooking the oven exploded and the walls were splattered with cake mix. It had been Brienne's fault though really. She had seen him criticising the contestants on the Great Westerosi Bake-off and pointed out Jaime couldn't make a simple Victoria sponge, so he had no right to judge. Thus began the Great Lannister/Tarth Bake Off, resulting in a lot of shouting, a new paint job for the walls and several complaints from the neighbours.

But it also resulted in a quick shared shower to rid themselves of the cake mix, so in the end it was a win.

Jaime smiled. Brienne could run away from feelings, but she could never run away from cheesy nachos. Literally nothing could go wrong.

#(Cut to next scene in which something has obviously gone wrong)#

Except Jaime couldn't cook. Why would he need to? He was a Lannister. If Brienne didn't fancy cooking Jaime could just hire a chef or get some catering in from one the five star restaurants his father was patron. He couldn't think cheesy nachos would be that hard, but then apparently you don't make cheesy nachos by opening a bag of chips, sticking the cheese in and then putting the bag in the oven at full blast.

No, that's how you make a fire. A fire which your room-mate is forced to put out and burn her hands whilst doing so, resulting in a trip to A&E.

Jaime sighed, wrapping an arm round Brienne's shoulders.

“I'm sorry,” he said for the millionth time.

“I know, you were just trying to do something nice,” Brienne assured him, wincing, “Ouch,”

“Try to do something nice, instead give you second degree burns,” Jaime hung his head, “I'm useless,”

“You're not,” Brienne protested, “You're really not,”

“I am. I can't even tell you I'm in love with you without being drugged up,” Jaime pointed out, “Though now I wish I hadn't, if it we could go back to normal,”

Brienne stared at her hands silently, before turning back to Jaime. “I don't want to go back to normal Jaime,”

Jaime looked at her, watching the hopeful smile slowly form on her lips. He reached out, cupping the back of her head with his hand, and pulled her towards him for a kiss.

Finally, finally everything was out. At last their feelings were made clear. And all it took was a lot of drugs, a fire and some thirds degree burns.


	12. Keeping Warm

The bitter cold was setting in and the nights growing longer and longer. Sunlight was scarce behind the glaring clouds that loomed overhead. Those preparing for battle against the White Walkers found themselves going to greater lengths to keep warm. With gales roaring through the realm and snow up to her knees, it seemed as the the could have sunk into Brienne's bones and become part of her skin.

Brienne was fortunate, as Lady Sansa's sworn sword she was appointed a chamber within the walls of Winterfell. She had the hot water of the underground springs pumping around her and an actual bed to fall into. Others; the smallfolk and soldiers, were forced to make do with huddling by the fires in the courtyard over witch a hasty roof had been constructed to keep off the snow, which was often at risk of being blown away. The extremely young, the ill or the old, did slightly better with camping out in the Great Hall and littering the hallways.

Her chivalrous nature not allowing herself to keep the luxury of a large chamber to herself, Brienne was one of the first to invite the most vulnerable to stay in her rooms. Others soon followed suit, some more willingly than others. But with more and more smallfolk pouring into Winterfell in search of refuge, King Jon was soon ordering all others to give up their chambers. Brienne herself made do with a small closet just off from her now full to the brim chambers.

There was barely enough room to lie down, but it was warm. Especially with Ser Jaime there to keep her company. People may gossip but it was only right that Brienne allow Jaime to share with her. A Lannister and the Kingslayer, Jaime had few friends up North and with fear and hunger running rampant, emotions were at a boiling point. Should Jaime be kept in close quarters with Northerners, a fight was bound to break out.

As for Brienne; with so many Wildlings given her the eye and growing more reckless in the face of oncoming death, the more people to help her fight off anyone with a mind for stealing her, the better.

That was also why Brienne was grateful that all her shifts on guard duty coincided with Jaime's. King Jon had requested it, admitting that pairing a Lannister with someone else would end in bloodshed, ether out of hatred for the Kingslayer or just from Jaime opening his mouth.

Brienne could see the wisdom behind the king's words and agreed.

By now, Brienne had gotten used to Jaime's tongue. She had put up with his jibes for over a year, he was unlikely to rile her up. Although admittedly his barbs had become significantly softer, delivered with an underlying note of affection that Brienne tried not to dwell on.

He could still have her grinding her teeth at times.

Such as when they were stood atop the battlements of Winterfell, huddling beneath layers of matted fur and stretching their fingers over the brazier.

“You know,” Jaime suggested, steam billowing from his lips, “There is more than one way to warm up,”

“Jaime...” Brienne began warningly.

Jaime waggled his finger at her. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” he chided, “I meant you could stand a bit closer,” he held out his arms, nodding for her to enter his embrace.

Brienne frowned, hesitating.

“Come on Brienne,” he coaxed, “You know I'm not giving in, and my bollocks are freezing off standing like this,”

Brienne couldn't understand Jaime sometimes. He was the first to see red whenever her honour was questioned, and when the term 'Kingslayer's whore' was thrown about. And yet then he goes and and tries to convince her to bury herself in his arms. Didn't he realise what a bad idea that was? The last thing they needed was to be discovered snuggling together for warmth.

Which was why Brienne was so surprised by to find herself moving towards him and allowing herself to be folded into his arms. She stood with her back pressed against his chest, his head resting over her chin.

“This warming you up?” he murmured into her ear, reaching underneath her cloak to wrap her hand in his.

Brienne nodded stiffly, trying not to notice how well she fitted against him. With the snow falling gently, and Jaime's steady heartbeat next to her own, all thoughts of the White Walkers melted away.

“I sometimes can't imagine Spring coming again,” Jaime admitted, running his hand over her arm, “Can't imagine a life beyond this war,”

“Me neither,” Brienne said softly, “I've grown used to not think of the future. Not my own at least,”

When you give up a life of safety and luxury in a castle to trek across a war torn country, you accept that you're not likely to reach old age.

Behind her, Brienne could feel Jaime tense behind her.

“I know that your chivalry means you have very little self-preservation-” he began.

“Says the man who jumped into a bear pit, unarmed and one-handed,” Brienne snapped.

Jaime gave a throaty chuckle. “You're right,” he conceded, “Neither of us are particularly good at taking care of ourselves,” he squeezed her tighter, pulling her close, “We're going to have to start taking care of each other,”

“Aren't we already doing that?” Brienne near whispered. She could feel Jaime smile.

“It seems we are,” he agreed.

Brienne allowed herself to rest into Jaime's arms, momentarily relaxed and at ease. She then completely tensed up once more at the sound of grunting and groaning coming from a stable below. She grimaced, her frostbitten cheeks turning an even deeper red. Although he made no sound, Jaime; damn him, was laughing. His shoulders jerked violently up and down and his chest heaved.

“Sounds like someone else is also trying to get warm,” he snarked. Brienne just rolled her eyes and continued trying to ignore the noises coming from below, as well as Jaime's obvious amusement. This grew significantly harder when she could feel something hard jabbing into her thigh.

“For fucks sake Jaime,” she groaned.

“I'm sorry! It's just rather hard to ignore,” he explained, “It's putting ideas in my head,”

“Well get those ideas out of your head,” she snapped.

“I could,” Jaime mused, “Or...”

“Or what?”

“Well, it seems to me that the couple below are being awfully rude. We could give them a taste of their own medicine,” Jaime suggested with a leer.

She turned round to him with a blood curdling glare. _“Jaime,”_

Jaime gave her a reassuring grin. “Joking,” he said, “Although, if you want it go away you can give me a hand?”

“ _Jaime,”_ she snarled.

“What?” Jaime asked defensively, “I thought we agreed to take care of each other,”

 


	13. Obviously Just Platonic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Just Friends. Brienne might be convinced of Jaime's feelings for her, but that doesn't mean everyone else is.

Winter had not yet wielded its way to Spring, but now that the nightmarish cold and darkness of the Long Night had yielded its grip, spirits were higher and a dangerous ripple of hope was spreading through. The White Walkers and Queen Cersei were defeated, and the new rulers of the Kingdom were preaching a new era of peace and prosperity.

Seven knew how long that was going to last, but it was nice to think about.

What's more, the ports were opening up once more and food was coming in, paid for and sent by the wealth grateful to not be overrun by White Walkers. After meals of boiled leather and tree bark, their rations of vegetables, bread and meat not found on boots was a feast. Especially as the Queen's hands had pulled every string to provide a suitable wedding feast for his brother and new good-sister. Although pitiful for a Lannister wedding, it was the first feast everyone present had seen in years. Savoury smells wafted temptingly from the kitchen.

Several pigs has nobly laid down their lives, and there was to be ribs roasted in garlic and herbs, fat sausages, chops and and crackling and bacon. Roasted boars with crispy skin, enough for the whole castle. There was pigeon pie and stewed rabbit and salted beef. Food for the first time cooked for taste and not survival. And fruit. Actual fresh fruit. There had been tears when the first crate of oranges had been bit into.

It was an excess, but one they all welcomed. For it was not just a wedding celebration, but also a thank you for all of those who had risked their lives in the Battle of the Long Night, as well as something to fortify the many who were preparing for a long trek south. But most of all, it was a promise. A promise of better times to come. A time when even the smallfolk could occasionally enjoy such indulgences, safe and satisfied under the rule of good Queen Daenerys and noble King Jon.

There was also to be vast, vast quantities of ale and wine, both of Arbor Gold and Dornish Red. Proper good stuff, not the piss like they made on the Wall or; Seven forbid, fermented goat's milk.

“Of course, the Kingslayer will need the good stuff in order to go through with the wedding night,” one young Northern soldier jeered.

“Say what you will about his sister, but at least she was beautiful,” his Southern companion added, “And with tits like firm oranges,”

“Really, after three bastards?” the Northerner asked incredulously.

“Well, I got a glimpse at her walk of shame and they had gotten a bit saggy, but still better than the she-bear the Kingslayer's saddled himself with now,” the Southerner admitted.

“You have to wonder what he is thinking,” the Northerner mused, “It's 'is hand they took, not 'is head,”

“Well, she's an heiress. And Lady Stark is fond of her. If you're in the Kingslayer's place, wouldn't you want to secure yourself as many allies as possible?” the southerner pointed out.

“I'd rather face the Queen's justice than go through with bedding that beast,” the Northerner sneered.

“Well maybe so will he, when the times comes,” the Southerner suggested, “What are the odds that he will actually go through with the bedding. It'd be a miracle if he could bear to kiss her,”

“Oh I don't know,” a new voice cut in, “I reckon it'd be an experience at the least. Have a go with a woman like that,”

The two soldiers spun round to see Ser Bronn of the Blackwater smiling genially at them. Besides them stood the Hound, glowering menacingly down at the pair.

Ser Bronn's smile turned into something of a leer, “Can you imagine having her legs wrapped round you? Reckon they'd go round twice. And the strength of those hips...”

“Well I'm sure you'll get your go,” the Northerner told him, “I bet you that the Kingslayer will be running for his life the minute he sees her naked,”

“Here, I'll get in on that,” the Southerner agreed.

Ser Bronn shrugged, “I will take you up on that. How about you Clegane? Willing to enter into a little bet,”

Clegane nodded. “Aye, I'll get in. You two say that the Kingslayer won't go through with the bedding?”

“And you two are saying her will,” the Northerner sniggered, “What are the stake,s”

Bronn looked at the Hound, “Usually I would ask for a castle, but I've finally got one of those in hand. And I don't think little peasants like you will have anything to tempt gentlemen like us,”

“I've got an idea,” the Hound muttered, “They can strip,”

“What?” the Southerner declare incredulously.

Bronn nodded in agreement. “I concur. Losing pair strips and streaks across the courtyard at noon, at its busiest,”

The two soldiers glanced at each other uneasily.

“Why hesitate, got something to be ashamed off?” Clegane snarled.

“No!” the Northerner snapped.

“Well that's lucky,” Bronn smirked, “Because it's awfully cold, and a lot of people will be watching,”

“They'll be watching you!” the Southerner shot back, “No way in the Seven Hells with the Kingslayer go through with bedding that cow!”

He went through with bedding the cow.

The Southerner and the Northerner began having doubts when they saw the Kingslayer's face as he stood at the altar. Aged and lined by the war, he was still the most handsome man in every room, dressed in deep crimson tunic. The soldiers tried to reassure themselves that the slight fear in his eyes was dread at his upcoming nuptials, and not the terror of a man who was so close to reaching bliss and could not believe it was not about to be snatched away from his.

As Lady Brienne approached, Ser Jaime extended his one remaining hand and pulled him towards her with a quickness that suggested it pained him to be from her side. He gripped onto her all throughout the service, with a grasp tighter than the one nerves currently had on the soldiers' stomachs.

“Well I can see he's fond of her,” the Northerner muttered, “Like one is of a prized horse,”

All hopes were dashed when that night, even over the din of the revellers, screaming and groaning could be heard echoing from Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne's wedding chambers.

The next day, the Northerner and Southerner were hiding behind a dung heap. They passed a flagon of ale between each other and prayed in vain that they would not be discovered.

“Well now boys, a bet is a bet. Time to pay up,”

The soldiers glanced up to see Ser Bronn and Sandor Clegane standing over them. Bronn had the same shit eating grin he always wore, whereas Clegane's customary snarl had an edge of loathing to it, as though he thought they were two even greater pieces of shit than usual.

The Hound placed his hand on his sword. “Strip,” he growled, “Or I'll do it for you,”

“Don't feel too bad,” Bronn consoled them, “You're in good company. We've got to go find Tormund Giantsbane after this,”

“What'd he do?” the Northerner asked.

“Thought he'd be able to convince the Tarth woman to run away with him,” Clegane grunted.

“And so you see,” Ser Bronn laughed, “There's a man here even more delusional than you two!”

 


	14. Marked

 

Jaime awoke to find Brienne with her pressed against him. Her sleeping shift had ridden up in the night, revealing her pale white back. He reached out and gently tugged it up, finding the small lion and sun that marked her as his own. As the answer to the question he had been pondering ever since their final days together at King's Landing, when the prospect of saying goodbye to this woman he had longed to be rid of filled him with anguish.

Brienne stirred in his arms, and Jaime found himself willing her to go back to sleep, so that they could remain in bed a moment longer. So they could shut out reality just a bit more.

She rolled over and blinked awake, smiling, in nothing but her shift it seemed as though all her usual stoicism had melted away, all her hardness and distrust replaced with softness.

“Jaime?” she murmured, contentment etched onto her face.

Jaime dipped down to capture a kiss, and press another against her forehead.

“Brienne,” he replied, reaching out to tenderly brush a stray hair from her face. She lifted her hand to cup his chin, stroking his newly grown beard. Jaime closed his eyes slightly and allowed himself to relax into her touch.

“Brienne,” he repeated, forcing his voice to take on an edge, “We have to talk,”

The bliss fled from Brienne's eyes and was replaced with the uncertainty and loathing of a girl having grown up ugly. Jaime kissed her brow once more; as though that could ease her fears, and turned to the matter at hand. Now that the initial elation had died down, the truth of their marks had to be confronted.

“Brienne, this has to be kept secret. No one can know about our marks,” he told her earnestly.

“If you're embarrassed,” Brienne began in a voice of steel.

“No, no!” Jaime protested vehemently, “If I could, I would scream into the face of every man, woman and child I met that I had the honour of being your soulmate. But if Cersei were to find out,” Jaime wrapped his arms around Brienne with a tight grip, “I dread to think what she might do,”

“You're sister is hardly in a position to waste man power to get to me,” Brienne reasoned, “It would be pettiness to the extent of insanity,”

“It would,” Jaime agreed, “And the day my sister ceases in being either petty or insane is the day Jon Snow doesn't look like a kicked puppy and Daenerys Targaryen stops blithering on about her titles and gets over her pyromania. So I wouldn't be rely your safety on Cersei's use of reason, for she does _not_ have one!”

Brienne grimaced and plucked at her fur coverlet. Jaime saw the doubt on her face and sighed.

“On this I need you trust me,” he pleaded, “I only want this kept secret to spare you Cersei's wrath. Believe me. I have never lied to you before and I do not intend to start now. That is not who we are,”

Brienne's jaw was clenched, but she nodded. “Very well,” she said, resting against Jaime, “I understand,”

“So it's agreed?” Jaime asked, “We tell no one about our marks. Absolutely no one,”

#

Jaime told Tyrion.

Tyrion could be trusted, he reasoned. He would never betray Jaime, (at least not again, and Brienne was nothing like Father), and he knew best of all the dangers of Cersei's jealousy and vindictiveness.

And Jaime had to tell someone.

“A toast!” Tyrion cried, thrusting up a goblet of ale, “To you and my future good-sister,”

“I think you're looking a bit far ahead,” Jaime cautioned, “We cannot make any official declaration until Cersei is dealt with. So I am swearing you to up-most secrecy,”

“Of course,” Tyrion assured him, “I understand. With all due respect, Lady Brienne may not have the prettiest head but I do not desire to see it on a pike on Traitor's Walk. Nor do I think even a lady of your Brienne's strength would be able to withstand the attentions of Gregor Clegane,”

Tyrion berated himself as Jaime blanched, the blood flooding form his face as Tyrion voiced the very thing he feared the most. Quickly, Tyrion topped up Jaime's goblet and bade him drink. Jaime gulped it down. His remaining fist was clenched around the stem of his goblet so tight his knuckles turned white with the strain.

“I won't tell anyone,” Tyrion repeated, anxious to console his brother, “No one will know until the time is right, least of all Cersei,”

#

Tyrion told Cersei.

Well, to be fair, the news of the Kingslayer wedding the ugliest woman in Westeros was already trampling up and down the country. It was the gossip of every tavern, port and parlour room in the Kingdom. Even Cersei, locked away in her two small rooms, was bound to find out at some point.

And Tyrion wanted to see her face when she did.

Cersei's rooms were not uncomfortable, although far from luxurious. Her know regrown hair was a mess, unkempt and straggly. Her clothes, although still grand and ornate, were now ill fitting and much of the decoration picked at. Her face was sallow and dark thumbprints were smudged beneath her eyes.

He knew she was allowed on walks every day, although heavily guarded by Unsullied. Another may have been sick with loneliness, but Cersei had never been one to relish in the friendship of others, just their subservience. It was why Tyrion had never been shocked that Cersei did not have a soulmark. She had been unwilling to share her second best rocking horse, let alone her soul; no matter what Jaime and she had used to think.

In many respects they could not be more different. Jaime would serve his heart on a platter, whereas Cersei locked her won away in a cage. It meant they fit together like a jigsaw, but they made an ugly picture.

Strewn across her bed and the floors were strips of cloth, torn and frayed.

“What's all this?” Tyrion asked idly.

“They suggested I pass the time by making shirts for the poor,” Cersei scoffed. She was sitting by her small window, watching his reflection in the glass rather than look directly at him. No doubt an attempt to appear uninterested.

“And instead you ripped them to pieces,” Tyrion smiled, “Well at least they kept you busy. Tell me, do you imagine the faces of your enemies whilst you do? I imagine it must be very therapeutic.,”

“Why do you ask?” Cersei sneered.

“Because,” Tyrion said lightly, “I have a feeling you shall be requiring more sheets to be tearing into before long,”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming to the end of this fic. I've only got a few more chapters left to upload. I'm no longer taking prompts. A big thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed and prompted!


	15. Parent Teacher Conference

For years Selwyn Tarth had been desperate for Brienne to get a boyfriend. Ever since she left home for uni. What were once forced play dates with the daughters of his business associates in a bid to find Brienne friends, became agonising blind dates.

First was Rollan Bryen, who pulled a sicky within the first five minutes. Ronnet Connington, who hadn't even bothered to come up with an excuse, took one sight of her and turned in the opposite direction. A slight improvement had been Hyle Hunt, an employee of her father. He had been charming and friendly and made her laugh. Then it transpired he wasn't interested in her at all, and just wanted to smarm up to her father. Still hoping she would be willing to put out though.

Then there was Tormund Giantsbane, who had been very interested in her and certainly hoped she would put out. Throughout the date he repeatedly tried to play footsie (convincing himself that her digging the heel of her stiletto into his toes was merely foreplay). He then went down on his pork chop like a beaver chewing wood, eyebrows squirming and wriggling.

Thankfully on that date the manager spotted her distress and informed her of an 'important call' waiting for her in the office, before bringing her a complimentary slice of chocolate cake and smuggling her out the back.

Considering the calibre of Selwyn's candidates for Brienne's hands, Brienne could not help but feel it was rather cheeky of her dad to criticise _her_ choice of boyfriend.

Dinner was uncomfortable to say the least. And Brienne was completely willing to blame it all on her dad. Jaime; bless him, had tried so hard. For once he chose to actually wear a proper suit, even though he complained all morning about the stiff collar and tie choking him. He didn't shave; for which Brienne was grateful for, but his hair had been combed. He looked as though he had actually taken time to dress, as opposed to just pulling a patched blazer over his pyjamas.

Brienne could seep the slight tremor in his hands as he reached out to shake her father's hand, only for Selwyn to crush it in his giant fist. To Jaime's credit, he simply smiled politely at Selwyn's obvious attempts at dominance. Even as Selwyn's turned white from the strain, Jaime barely flinched.

In the end Selwyn had to concede defeat and release Jaime's hand.

They sat down stiffly at their table. Brienne was greatly relieved that they were in a crowded restaurant, full of witnesses should a murder occur.

“So Mr Lannister,” Selwyn began, “It's interesting to meet you at last,”

“I am pleased to meet you also,” Jaime said cordially.

“I never said I was pleased,” Selwyn growled.

“Oh I know,” Jaime said with a jaunty smile, “But naturally I assumed you are. That's how it is with most people,”

Brienne grimaced. The last thing she needed was Jaime to go full cocky-Lannister mode. Not with her dad already hating him. But then any hopes of him behaving otherwise vanished the moment Selwyn opened hostilities. The battle lines had been drawn and Jaime never was once to grovel.

“You know, I've been waiting a long time for Brienne to find a nice young man,” Selwyn said, “It seems I shall have to keep waiting,”

Jaime just smiled tightly in response. “It seems you will,” he agreed amiably, “But while we wait for him to turn up, how about I keep Brienne entertained in the mean time?” he leered at her, “I've gotten rather good at that

Selwyn's face twisted into an ugly sneer. Brienne hid behind her menu, fixating on the foods available.

“So, how about some calamari to start?” she suggested anxiously, “And maybe some garlic bread?”

Jaime's hand found its way to her knee and gave her a comforting squeeze.

“Brienne tells me you used to play pro-rugby,” Jaime said in a bid for friendly conversation, “I like to play now and then. The three of us should have a match sometime,”

Brienne shot Jaime a grateful look, and agreed enthusiastically. “That sounds great!” she cheered with and uncharacteristic verve. “We haven't played in ages Dad, I would love to have a game sometime. It's meant to be lovely weather next Wednesday,” she turned to Jaime, “You're free then, aren't you?”

“I'm not,” Selwyn cut in.

“Well it's not urgent,” Jaime said lightly, “Whenever you're free,”

“You mean you really intend to stick around that long?” Selwyn scoffed.

“ _Dad!”_ Brienne hissed warningly, only to be interrupted.

“I know men like you!” Selwyn stood and thrust a finger into Jaime's face, “Playing around with vulnerable young women like my daughter. You flatter and flirt with her, only to abandon her when you're bored and want to go chasing after your next prey. Look at her, she's barely legal and you're a full grown man,” Selwyn shook his head in disgust, “You're closer to my age than hers,”

Jaime looked coolly at Selwyn's finger. “If you're trying to tell me something Selwyn,” he said dismissively, “Then I'm afraid I shall have to let you down. You're simply not my type,”

“Don't you dare disrespect me like that!” Selwyn thundered.

“Disrespect!” Brienne snapped, slamming her fist down on the table, “You accuse Jaime of disrespecting you when you've been snarling and hissing at him the minute we walked through this door,”

“Brienne-” Selwyn started, only to be cut off by the viscous glower sent to him by Brienne.

“You've given me enough grief over the years about me finding someone, and now that I have it's still not good enough for you. I know you want what's best for me, but at the end of the day you have to respect my choices and trust my judgement. I love Jaime,” she said, turning to look at him and finding his face full of surprise and gratitude. She swallowed a lump at the tenderness in her his eyes and continued. “I love him,” she repeated, “And he is a part of my life now whether you like it or not,” she stood and gathered her things, “Come on Jaime, we can grab a pizza on the way home. Father, call me when you can manage to be civil. Until then, don't bother,”

#

It was some hours later when the phone rang. Brienne was sprawled out across the sofa, sleeping with her head in Jaime's laps. Cardboard boxed with tomato sauce and bits of cheese stuck to the lids covered the table.

Jaime was tempted to let the land-line ring, knowing it was probably a recorded message. Even so, he picked it up as it stubbornly kept ringing.

“Hello?” he said.

“Lannister,” a gruff voice replied.

“Mr Tarth?” Jaime said in surprise, “Brienne's asleep at the moment,”

“That's fine,” Selwyn responded, “It's actually you I want to talk to,” he took a deep breath, “Look, I'm sorry about the way I acted earlier. I want to make amends, and I hope we can be friends, for Brienne's sake,”

“Me too,” Jaime agreed warmly.

“Even so,” Selwyn said, his voice darkening, “Don't forget I played rugby, and I still have teammates ready to back me up should I need it,”

“I won't forget,” Jaime assured him, looking fondly at the awkward lump splayed across the sofa, “Not that I think you will need it,”

“Probably not,” Selwyn conceded, “But you have to understand, she's my only child. all the family I have left in the world. Admitting that there is a new man in her life, one that she actually cares for and is serious about, it's harder for me to accept than I expected. Especially when it means trusting her happiness in someone else. That's why I gave you such a hard time earlier,” he paused, before grudgingly adding, “Well, that and the stubble burn around her face. That probably has something to do with it as well. _No_ father wants to see that!”

“Fuck,” Jaime swore, “Really have got to stop making a habit of that,”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that I'm no longer taking prompts, and thank you to everyone who has, and who has read and reviewed.


	16. Take 2

It was cowardice, in the end. It was cowardice that had Jaime running back to Cersei; who he knew he would be miserable with, rather than risk hoping of finding something better with Brienne. When it came to Cersei, things had been left so crap that he had optimistically hoped that they could only improve. Or at least not get any worse.

But Brienne, she had been his best friend. Loyal, dependable and awkwardly blunt. He enjoyed being around her in a way that he never did with anyone else. Certainly not Cersei. Kissing Brienne that night had been so easy. They had been drinking, and he managed to make her laugh; which he rarely succeeded in doing. After that everything came naturally.

He was the first to wake that morning. He got to see her, resting peacefully with her usual frown lines missing from her head. He smiled and allowed a wave of bliss spread through him, before the cold reality of what had just happened settled in his stomach like a brick.

Things had been so good with Brienne that he could not bare to ruin it. And ruin it he was sure to do; his relationship with Cersei stood testament to that. He was toxic, he knew that. At least he and Cersei could be toxic together.

Brienne took his decision well, or at least she didn't plead and cry and scream in his face. She didn't react like Cersei. He then threw himself into Cersei's waiting talons, comforted that his friendship with Brienne was safely unaltered. They could continue on as before and anything romantic between them would remain a sweet dream rather than a terrifying reality. Or at least, that had been the plan. Brienne; strong, independent woman she was, had different ideas.

They slept together Friday, broke up Saturday and Monday morning Jaime came into work to find Brienne had quit and moved North, where Catelyn Stark had a job waiting for her. Clearly, when Jaime had come up with his genius plan he had failed to account for Brienne's own pain and grief. (Just another sign he was too messed up for a relationship and Brienne deserved better than him.)

On hearing the news he broke some furniture and his own hand whilst punching the wall, before, went to A&E, and then sulked around his apartment wishing his painkillers hadn't made getting pissed to dangerous. He was forced into sobriety all throughout his recovery and by the time he did, he had come to terms that Brienne was better off far away by a hopeless case such as himself.

Besides, drinking was no fun without Brienne anyway.

Tyrion had tried to help, of course. But in every attempt of comfort there had been an underlying anger. Even his own brother was sick of Jaime and his drama.

In the end, he broke up with Cersei for good. He might not have deserved anyone better, but even so Jaime could accept he didn't deserve the misery that would come living a life by her side.

He contented himself with Tyrion and Bronn. They were his only friends, which was a bit depressing considering that they were only his friends due to being related of paid to like him. Jaime had accepted that this was his lot in life. Two years passed. He had moved on and learnt to live a life without Brienne.

Or so he told himself that.

The plane ticket to Winterfell said something otherwise.

When Father requested a Lannister representative to go up North, his bags were packed and flight was booked before his brain had caught up quick enough to remind him what a bad idea it was.

#

Ever since it was announced that Jaime Lannister would be coming North as part of the negotiations with Winterfell Inc, Brienne told herself she didn't care.

The chunks of chewed up food in the toilet bowl named her a liar.

She had been up all night, wondering what she was going to say when she saw him. Whether she was going to say anything at all. Should be cool and professional? Or friendly and easy as though the very sight of him probably wasn't going to rip her heart in shreds. What was he going to say? They hadn't talked since that morning. She didn't tell him she was moving North and he never tried to contact her. He was probably relieved she was gone. Left him to be free to pursue a life with Cersei. Beautiful, gorgeous Cersei, with her golden locks and lithe figure.

Given the choice, wouldn't every man choose Cersei over Brienne? Her brother included.

Brienne grimaced as she heard Sansa's voice in her head, rebuking her for putting herself down. It probably wasn't healthy, but the only thing more pathetic than an ugly woman was an ugly woman trying to be pretty. Self-deprecation and accepting her ugliness was Brienne's only defence. She resisted the urge because it made Sansa feel uncomfortable, although it struck her as a bit unfair. Brienne wouldn't ask Sansa to dress down and take off her make-up to make herself feel like less of a troll in comparison. It would be completely unreasonable to ask Sansa to lose something that gave her confidence.

That was why it was a bit hard hanging out with Sansa, as much as she loved her. At times she preferred to spend time with Sandor, with whom she could put up a united front. They could spend the evening eating absolute crap, drinking absolute garbage and hating on the world, which suited her mood quite a lot since coming North.

“You sick?” a rough voice called, “You should have stayed home. Don't delude yourself that you're too important that we couldn't handle without you,”

Brienne turned to glower at Sandor, who was king in the ladies' doorway with his customary scowl on his face.

“No,” she croaked, “It's just my monthlies. Sometimes I feel nauseous when my flow is heavy,” she smiled weakly, “Lucky I brought spare trousers today. It was a like a war hospital down there earlier,”

She nearly chuckled at the look on Sandor's face. The man volunteered at the local butchers for fun. It seemed skinning and gutting adorable little bunny rabbits was therapeutic for him. And yet even he was terrified by the prospect of a woman's moonsblood. Just like ever other man.

Well, every other man than Jaime. When she had been caught unaware once at his flat, he had run her a bath, lent her some of his won clothes whilst hers was in the wash and ran out for chocolate fudge cake. Taking the piss all the time, of course. But he didn't squirm and gag even as he scrubbed the stains from his designer sofa. Nor did he flee like Sandor.

“Well,” Sandor grumbled as he turned to leave, “Was just telling you the Lannisters have arrived. Meeting starts in ten Tarth,”

“Tarth?” another voice asked.

Brienne grimaced, what did a girl have to do to vomit in peace.

“Brienne Tarth!” a familiar voice crowed, “Long time no see,”

Brienne straightened up and forced a smile. “Hello Tyrion,” she said, too weary to be genuinely glad see him, as much as she liked him.

“It's good to see you,” he said warmly, “You've been missed up South,”

“I'm sure the office got along fine without me,” Brienne said lightly.

“It wasn't the office I was talking about,” Tyrion said softly, “He hasn't been the same since you've left,”

“Shit,” Brienne stuttered, turning to the toilet for another round of vomit.

#

In the end, Brienne chose to ignore him. Even as she felt his gaze fix on her, she kept her eyes stubbornly averted. She allowed herself a quick glimpse in the reflection of the polished table top, which was just enough for the stomach to clench and eyes to water. After that, she stared fixedly at her table screen.

She made sure to sit near the door, ready to flee the minute the meeting was over. When the first round of business was concluded, Brienne made to retreat to the ladies' room, which had quickly become her haven. She was steps away from safety, only for the younger of the Lannister brothers to stop her in her tracks.

“Brienne dear, Mrs Stark wants to see you in the meeting room,” he announced casually.

Brienne frowned, looked anxiously down the corridor and fled to the board room. She slammed the door behind her with a sigh of relief. It was safe. Or so she thought.

“Brienne?”

It was not the Stark matriarch stood before her, but Jaime. Stupid, handsome Jaime.

“Bloody Tyrion,” she mumbled.

“He sent you here too then?” Jaime asked.

“You weren't in on it?”

“No,” Jaime replied, “I don't think it would have been right to bring personal life into your work. Let alone the broad room,”

“On the contrary,” Tyrion's voice called through the door, “It's the perfect place to talk about your personal life. Especially as I've blocked the door,”

Brienne's eyes widened in horror, and she desperately tried to slam the door open. It was in vain, leaving her with nothing but a sore shoulder.

“Tyrion,” Jaime growled, “This isn't fair. Let us out,”

“No, what wouldn't be fair is to make me put up with another two years of you moping about. I get it, being a Lannister has fucked you up,” Tyrion snapped, “Probably as much as being ugly has fucked Brienne up. And I can speak as something of an expert on both subjects. Clearly neither of you are going to make the first move and talk things out, so I am going to do it for you,”

Brienne and Jaime stared at each other. Even with two years past, Brienne could recognise that voice and saw Tyrion would not be budging.

“So,” Jaime began awkwardly, “How have you been?”

Brienne shrugged and looked at her feet. Fuck Tyrion, fuck him.

“It didn't last, with Cersei,” Jaime garbled out suddenly, “I only turned back to her because I was scared of trying with you and failing,”

Brienne blinked slowly digesting the news.

“There's never been anyone else,” he continued, “Only you,”

“Oh,” Brienne said simply.

“And you,” Jaime prodded, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, “Has there been anyone for you,”

“No,” she said in a small voice, “There has been no one,”

“And, have you been happy?”

Brienne paused, mulling over his words. Had she been happy? These long, pointless two years, that had been so wasted.

“I haven't been unhappy,” she answered truthfully. She hadn't allowed herself that.

“And have you missed me?” Jaime stepped forward, taking her hand in his. Her hand was still, but she didn't grab it away.

“Every day,” she whispered hoarsely. Damn, why couldn't her chin stop wobbling?

The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers. She backed away, and Jaime quickly gave her space.

“Are you sure?” she asked, “Tyrion's right, we are both pretty fucked up. What if we mess it up all over again?”

“Maybe we will, maybe we won't. We won't know until we try,” Jaime pointed out.

Well in that case...this time Brienne initiated the kiss. Because scary as it was, if there was one thing neither of them, it was cowards.

Their kiss deepened, tongues battling the other. Jaime grabbed Brienne by the hips and hauled her onto the table, shoving files and left over tea cups onto the the floor with a clatter.

“Fucking finally,” Tyrion cheered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter. A bit more angsty than usual.No longer taking prompts and thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed.


	17. End of the War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-Jaime knowing Brienne's measurements and sequel to Obviously Just Platonic.

Three men huffed as they made their laps round the courtyard. Puffs of smoke billowed from their mouths against the cold, frigid air. Five laps down, they were half way through. They had started off at a sprint, anxious to get the ordeal over as quick as possible. Now they were lagging, but the cold drove them to keep moving fast.

Spectators jeered and catcalled as they passed by. They had no idea why the men before them had embarked on these laps of shame, only that they had lost a wager very badly. Many watchers were still hung over from the night before, but not even the battle raging inside their skulls could keep them from watching the scene unfold before them.

A bit of hair of the dog helped as well, and heightened their enjoyment greatly.

Husband and wife were hidden, tucked away on a ledge where they could barely be seen. The view was perfect. Nor particularly pleasant, but Jaime could not help but relish in the image before him. Huddled in his arms, with Jaime's head resting on her shoulder, Brienne watched through narrowed eyes. For all of Jaime's delight, he could see his wife was less enthused.

Jaime smiled and squeezed her tightly. His wife! He could never get tired of calling her that.

“Their toes are going to fall off,” she muttered disapprovingly.

“Or their cocks,” Jaime added, “fingers crossed,”

“You're enjoying this far too much,” Briene said, grimacing at the goose-pimpled flesh flapping and jiggling in the wind.

“After they insulted my wife? Of course I am,” Jaime agreed, “Don't tell me you are not angered that those soldiers bet I would abandon you on our wedding night?”

“I was more insulted by Giantsbane's declaration I would abandon _you_ on our wedding night,” Brienne answered succinctly, “And run away with him,”

Jaime's knuckles clenched as he glowered down at the ginger Wildling. “It was wrong of him to question your honour so,” he said darkly, “And to believe you capable of breaking such a promise,”

“Well, that as well,” Brienne acquiesced, “But mostly it was his belief that I would willingly consent to run away with _him,” S_ he looked down on Tormund and shuddered. He was covered in thick, bristly red hair and the little skin on display was like goose-flesh.

He caught her eye and flexed. He thrust out his chest, causing Brienne to gag. Jaime grabbed the edge of her cloak and tugged it round her, as though he were protecting her from the lecher's gaze. It was futile, of course. Even Jaime recognised that. Reasoning with the man did not work. He only heard what he wanted to hear. Brienne had tried ignoring him, but he would not take a hint. Beating the bloody shit from him was out of the question. From Jaime it was an acknowledgement he was a threat, and from Brienne it was foreplay.

That Brienne could possibly be sincere in her lack of interest was inconceivable, let alone her disgust.

As far as Jaime was concerned, the only course of action was to get Brienne South, as far away from the lascivious Wildling as possible. The sooner the better.

But not before watching the man be forced to parade about the courtyard in the nude. Nothing in the world was going to make him miss that, as was evidenced by the shit eating smile splashed across his face.

As they reached their second to last lap, the men decided to try and salvage some dignity by turning it into a race. He who won could at least walk away with his head held slightly higher than the losers behind him. At least that was the hope. Then everything went arse over head, literally.

It was neck and neck between the two soldiers, when a panicked Tormund put in a surge of energy and barrelled forward. He knocked into the pair and all three went flying into a mound of steaming horse shit. Three bodies squirmed and writhed in a clump, struggling to stand only to slip face first again.

Brienne watched them, torn between disgust and amusement. Behind her, Jaime roared with laughter, clutching Brienne to keep himself upright. Holding back her own mirth, Brienne rolled her eyes.

“This is the high light of our wedding for you, isn't it,” she asked.

“Brienne,” Jaime said seriously, “I cannot deny that it is up there. But I wouldn't consider it the high light,”

“Oh no,” Brienne smiled to herself, “What would you consider the high light to be?”

“Well, the wedding night was pretty good,” he whispered into her ear, remaining hand running lightly down her arm and curling into her fingers. Brienne blushed and smiled, the soreness and aches in her body stood testament to that. That he could even manage to make Brienne's toned body ache spoke of Jaime's skills.

“What else?” she asked.

“Trying to feed you from my fork in front of everyone,” Jaime smirked, “And you retaliating by shoving a fish in my mouth,”

“You said feeding each other would be romantic,” Brienne said innocently.

“But I think the best moment,” Jaime murmured, “Was seeing you enter the Sept for the first time. Watching you try not to cry; out of happiness I hope, wearing your dress,”

Brienne blushed and ducker her head. She would never have worn that dress, were it not for Jaime. She would always prefer her breeches and armour, but if she were to wear a dress for one day, it would be her wedding day. But she was too ashamed to request one to be made, too aware of her large and mannish body. But then, it seemed Jaime was also.

The gown she found on her bed the morning of her wedding was a soft blue velvet, trimmed with glossy white fur. Jaime must have arranged for Tyrion to have it sent from the South along with the sumptious wedding food. Lady Sansa had made it, having received her measurements from Jaime.

It fit perfectly. Just like the armour Jaime had commissioned for her.

It made Brienne turn red to think of how well Jaime knew her body, every inch of it. And at the same time it made her heart race to think of how he loved it even so. Scars and muscles and all.

“I never did ask,” she murmured softly, “How did you know my measurements?”

Jaime just smiled and shrugged. “I just have a good eye,” he said smugly, “As our horse-shit covered friend are about to find out.

“What did you do now?” Brienne groaned.

Jaime's smile widened, baring his teeth. “When they get back to their chambers, they are going to be in for a little surprise. Whilst they have foolishly left their clothes unattended, it occurred to us that the fires down in the courtyard aren't sufficiently large enough to keep them warm. And what are clothes for but to keep you warm?”

“Are you telling me that you threw all their clothes on the bonfire?”

“Well, not all of them. Let's hope they're as willing as you to wear dresses, because if not they are going to be cold for a long time. Especially Giantsbane,” he smirked and pointed at the thicket of hair between Tormund's thighs. Brienne followed his gaze and nearly wretched. She was never sure if Tormund's boasts about the bear eating half his cock was true, but looking at him now certainly suggested it was so.

“Because let's face it,” Jaime concluded, “Tormund has it bad enough as it is, the cold isn't going to help,”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has followed this fic! It's been a lot of and It has been fantastic hearing your comments and prompts.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has prompts for other sequel fics, or in general, please leave me them in the comments!


End file.
